


A Room of Thine Own Gettening

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Footnotes, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, So many tropes!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: The angel and demon are so obtuse, God has to take matters into Her own hands.





	A Room of Thine Own Gettening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> They're dumb but I love them. Oh look it's my very first Good Omens fic!
> 
> I'm gifting this to Zoi who loved Crowley and Zira eons ago and before it was cool <3
> 
> P.S. I will never try footnotes on AO3 again :'(

“Oh no!” Aziraphale declared, casting a worried eye about Crolwey’s London flat. “But you only have _one bed_ , Crowley! What are we supposed to _do_?”

The demon stared, sunglasses discarded to reveal the narrow snake-like pupils of his amber eyes. “Do? You don’t actually need sleep, angel. Why is this a problem?”

A very interested pigeon with a look of someone who had skin in the game landed on Crowley’s windowsill and fixed the two beings with a suspicious glare. It had occurred to Crowley to shoo the peeper away, or at least to close the curtains, when he had been distracted by Aziraphale’s constipated face.[1]

“What are you doing?” Crowley fretted. “Oh no, no, not the bed! Zira, for fuck’s sakes!”

The angel blushed and turned his long, batting lashes in the demon’s direction like the lethal weapons that they were. “But now there are two.”

“What?”

“Two beds.”

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes and they’re both tiny.”

“We don’t need much space,” the angel protested.

“This is undignified.”

“Out of an overabundance of caution…”

“Zira, we’re not bloody children!”

“...I wouldn’t want to be caught in flagrante…”

“ _Napping??_ ”

The pigeon had chosen this precise moment to beat his head against the glass of Crowley’s window. He let out a dying-ish sort of a coo, and dropped down to the street below, like a rock.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale.

***

“This is awkward,” Aziraphale announced, playing with his own shirt cuffs. “You’re not here to see…? Well, I suppose it wouldn’t do to share that information.”

“Mine’s on the 13th floor,” Crowley said as he hit the button with the number 13 on it (the Devil’s dozen, obviously) and reclined against the brass rail at the back of the small lift.

“It can’t be…” Aziraphale looked uncertain. “I’ve also got an appointment on the 13th floor.”

“That was your mistake, angel,” Crowley said peering over the top of his shades, “I don’t ever make appointments. I believe it was your side that invented appointments, wasn’t it?[2]Not my style, if you catch my drift. I’m a free demon, I come and go as I please.”

As if to purposefully discredit him, the lift gave a little jolt and suspended itself in between the eighth and ninth floors.

“You didn’t have to perform any unauthorized minor miracles to make your point, angel,” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“This… Wasn’t me,” the angel replied.

Crowley frowned. “You sure?”

“Decidedly.”

“Bugger.”

“ _Had_ this been me,” Aziraphale pronounced with a puffed out chest, “I would have at least had the decency to make sure we don’t get stuck in between floors, thus making any rescue attempts dangerous to any human who might wish to undertake such a daring task.”

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale too sighed and took an uncertain step closer to the demon. “But since we’re here… How have you been, Crowley?”

“Keeping busy. You?”

“Keeping out of trouble.” Aziraphale scuffed his shoe against the wooden paneling of the lift’s floor. “Did you know,” he asked, eyes lighting up with glee, “that they call the lift something else in North America?”

Crowley had started to say “Yes” and the both of them spat out the word “Elevator!” in unison which would have been even more impressive had their tones matched. Crowley’s tone had been much less enthusiastic.

“Oh,” Aziraphale lowered his eyes. “I see you already knew that.”

Crowley shrugged. “I do like to keep abreast of what goes on in the Americas.”

For a moment neither one of them said anything more, their senses honed in on each other as if not entirely trusting the situation. “Well, if you won’t, I suppose it’ll be down to me again,” Crowley sighed and snapped his fingers, sending the lift or the elevator upwards on its merry way again.

***

“Snowed in?” Aziraphale exclaimed. “ _How_ can we possibly be _snowed in_! It’s the middle of summer! And we’re settled just close enough to Tadfield to get the benefit of their perfect weather.”

They weren’t living together, not exactly. They had merely decided that adjacent cottages would pass muster should anyone nosy on down (or up) to check in on them. And of course, being able to keep a watchful eye on the Destroyer of Worlds was a respectful enough reason that neither Heaven nor Hell would raise too much of an alarm.

Logically then, they took turns having tea at each other’s place because while technically neither one of them needed the caffeine, they weren’t utter _barbarians_. And Crowley was very fond of cucumber sandwiches.[3]

Putting the last of the cucumber sandwiches into his mouth yet neither chewing nor swallowing, Crowley tried the door, only to be hit in the face with a preternatural blizzard. “Bloody Hell!” he exclaimed with his mouth full. “Heaven! Whichever!”

“I suppose,” the angel offered softly, “you could spend the night here until it clears. I can miracle up another bed?”

“I’ll be blessed if I spend another night lying on a little boy bed while you snore like a… a… snoring thing!” Crowley exclaimed in indignation.

“I do not snore! Snoring is a human malfunction, and one this body is certainly incapable of.” Aziraphale unfurled his wings and began to nervously groom his feathers while the snow flurries pounded against the roof of his cottage. “But if you’re in such a hurry to leave, I’m sure you can just…” Aziraphale made a dismissive gesture, refusing to meet Crowley’s gaze. “Fire and brimstone, that’s your thing, isn’t it?”

“Actually, no, angel. Fire and brimstone - that is definitely, fully, entirely, indubitably in the Hashem’s repertoire.”

“Flames of perdition then?” Aziraphale offered with a helpful smile. “Surely, flames beat snow.”

“Are you suggesting we play this as some kind of…” Crowley looked for a pithy metaphor for a moment. “Ethereal Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

“Well, I very much doubt this is merely… what are they calling it these days? Is it still Global Warming?”

Crowley contemplated the door again, behind which five feet of snow lay like a personal challenge. “Climate Change, is what you’re looking for, I believe.” Crowley looked at his mobile which still showed the temperature outside to be a balmy 28oC. “Either this thing’s broken or someone broke the weather again.”

“Adam?” Aziraphale looked up from his tea.

“I should think not,” Crowley said. “This feels personal.”

“Crumpet?” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley blasted the exit with a great display of flames of perdition, clearing himself a path out. “Come and see, angel.”

They walked outside to find that the skies lay around them in empyrean hues, dappled sunlight reflected in every dandelion that lined their path. In a most peculiar display, the snow lay plastered solely against the walls of Aziraphale’s cottage, clinging to the walls and the windows with dogged desperation, and refusing to melt in the summer heat.

“This is most peculiar,” the angel said, poking at the pile of collected snowflakes and bringing his finger up to his tongue. “Tastes like snow. Feels like snow.”

“It is definitely snow, angel.”

“But _why_?”

_BECAUSE I WANT YOU TWO TO MASH YOUR MOUTHS TOGETHER[4] _

“I beg your pardon!” Aziraphale squealed in terror.

_KISSING. THERE SHOULD BE LOTS OF KISSING. I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH MORE CLEAR I CAN MAKE THIS FOR THE TWO OF YOU. I GAVE YOU LIPS!_

Crowley checked under the car. “Did… Did you hear something just now?”

Aziraphale, who had turned a very startling shade of crimson, held his wings aloft and folded over the top of his own head, as if to hide himself from the sunlight (or anything else that might be up there, sun-adjacently).

“P-p-perhaps,” the angel stuttered, “we had overdone it on the champagne.”

“We didn’t have any.”

“Are you _quite_ certain?”

Crowley was about to respond in the affirmative, but then the ground trembled beneath their feet and the Bentley began to shift, elongate, and generally begin to take the form and substance of a smallish but still very functional boat.

“Oh, what fresh Hell is this now!” Crowley exclaimed.

_IT’S A SHIP. GET IT? I SHIP IT. YOU IDIOTS._

Aziraphale let out a terrified squeal and Crowley unfurled his own wings but only to try and shelter the angel with an extra layer of his dark feathers.

“You hear it too!” Crowley accused.

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s not really… Is it?” Crowley peered into Aziraphale’s terrified eyes. “Adonai Herself, is it?”

_DO YOU MORONS REALLY NEED ME TO GATHER SOME CLOUDS SO I COULD PART THEM?_

“No, Lord!” the angel and the demon exclaimed as they dropped to their knees.

_DID I SAY KNEELING? NO. I SAID KISSING._

“We um… We don’t understand, Lord!” Aziraphale stammered.

_THIS IS IT, YOU LOSERS. THIS IS MY INEFFABLE PLAN. WHAT DO YOU THINK WAS THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE APOCALYPSE IF NOT BRING YOU FOOLS TOGETHER AT LAST AFTER SIX THOUSAND YEARS?_

The demon and the angel exchanged startled looks.

“So,” Crowley began cautiously, “It wasn’t to start a war to end all wars just to see which side is the winningest?”

_WAR - PAH! I AM A LOVER, NOT A FIGHTER._

“But what about all the dead babies?” Crowley uttered just as Aziraphale clamped a helpful, angelic hand over his mouth.

_FAKE NEWS, BABY, FAKE NEWS. NOW WILL THE TWO OF YOU FINALLY STOP BEING TOO STUPID FOR CREATION AND MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELVES? PREFERABLY WHOOPEE._

“Yes, Lord!” Aziraphale squeaked.

The snow disappeared and Crowley’s Bentley thankfully retook its own shape again rather than the shape of a terrible divine pun.

“What do you mean - ‘Yes, Lord!’” Crowley parroted Aziraphale. “Have you no dignity? Are you really just going to kiss me now simply because _She_ told you it is ineffable!”

“Well… no,” Aziraphale said with a sunken expression.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I mean… No, Crowley,” the angel pulled himself up proudly, “I’m going to kiss you because I have wanted to know what it might be like to kiss you for millennia. And if my wishes happen to coincide with the Lord’s wishes, then I suppose I should count my blessings for such a coincidence.”

“What, you’re just going to kiss me, are you?” the demon taunted. “Just like that? Not even going to ask for my consent? You think just because you’ve gotten to wear my body for a while, and you’re a pretty angel, you can just grab me by my what-not and…”

So, Aziraphale did.[5]

“You think I’m pretty?” the angel whispered as his mouth parted from Crowley’s.

“Zira,” Crowley exhaled, “Adonai is right. You are a gigantic idiot.”

He took the angel by the hand and led him inside his own cottage. He wasn’t going to make whoopee just because some jumped up ancient divinity had decided to become a giant perv with a voyeurism kink, but he also wasn’t about to let Aziraphale half his nice new bed. They would lie down on it together and cuddle properly, like adults. They would take many afternoon naps in it, together. And best of all, there would be angel kisses. Angel kisses that tasted of sunshine and of finally, after so damn long, finally coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> 1Angels couldn’t actually be constipated. Since everything about them was perfect, so was their digestion. At times this galled Crowley, who definitely suffered from a bout of GERD now and again. Nevertheless, it was the best way to describe the look that came over Aziraphale’s face when the angel attempted to perform unauthorized miracles. [ return ]  
> 2It wasn't. [ return ]  
> 3Crowley had actually invented the cucumber. I could go into the reasons why he thought this might be an excellent and very devilish idea, but that would not be very ladylike. [ return ]  
> 4The voice, if you could even call it a voice, seeing as it was sourceless and came out of nowhere and everywhere all at once so that Crowley and Aziraphale could both hear it and feel it even if they could not have pinpointed the source of it. [ return ]  
> 5And it was very nice. [ return ]
> 
>  
> 
> Comments feed my soul and are very appreciated!


End file.
